Monday, 27 July 2015

Blog Tour: Excerpt + #Giveaway: Love Drunk by Libby Rice

The love that lies built?Wine importer London Whitley dots her I’s and crosses her T’s. Her meticulous nature insulates her from fears that she might just be crazy, as in certifiably, medically nuts. When her almost ex-boyfriend winds up dead at her hands and she’s soon accused of importing counterfeit wines, London’s carefully constructed world begins to crumble. There’s help to be had, but only in the form of an imposing stranger who threatens her ruin.Trevor Rathlen is lucky to have escaped his marriage to a murderess alive and merely indebted to men who think the exquisite London Whitley’s innocence is a façade. A computer security specialist by day and hacker by night, Trevor agrees to return the favor owed by learning London’s secrets. The task should be an easy one, except Trevor is short on trust, London is long on lies, and together they battle an infinite attraction.

“How?” Trevor asked near London’s ear.
“How did you hurt your wrist?” Her eyeballs nearly rolled in their sockets. The
deep baritone slipped past her lowered defenses, a massage for the ear canal.
Trevor’s brand of coaxing made her want to answer.

“I fell.” As far as lies went, it wasn’t
bad. She had fallen. She’d simply
done so after being pushed and before doing some pushing of her own.

His grip slipped to her cast, and he
lifted the souvenir between them. One hand moved to her elbow. The other
outlined her half-covered fingers, never bending or hurting, just playing
lightly.

“You like falling?”

Was that a joke? “No—”

“Because judging from this”—he stroked
her pinky—“and what I saw today, you need to kick the habit.”

London didn’t consider herself overly
sexualized. In fact, her ex had insinuated the opposite on too many occasions.
“Give me more.” “So contained.” Dillon hadn’t insulted their intimacy, not exactly,
but he’d felt compelled to question it. When she hadn’t let go quite like he’d
wanted, the sex had gotten rough. Hard hands. Pinching fingers. Bruises, tiny
and faint, where no one could see.

They’d been colleagues and lovers for
over two years, and yet she’d always had to psych herself up for sex. If
consistent, she’d been able to get away with once a week. Longer, and the
nagging had started. “Please, baby.”
“I can make it good.”

He hadn’t.

So she’d taken the initiative on a
regular basis, telling herself Dillon deserved a good time and that, as his
girlfriend, she should provide it. Family and friends had remained in the dark,
while she’d blamed the rocky waters of her relationship on past voices of
authority, letting them morph into present voices of reason.

Maybe her skittishness really did arise
from an “inability to connect” and a
“desire to be set apart from others.”

Except Trevor smelled so good she might
stand in line for a piece of him, to bathe in the scent of soap and laundry
detergent and man. His deep voice raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck
and sent prickles to every spot he touched. If fingers could get goosebumps…

Sometimes promises were nice, even if
they couldn’t be kept. Against her better judgment, London melted farther into
his chest. His throat undulated just above her hair. What if she tipped her
head back and licked his Adam’s apple?

“Wanna know how?”

She bit her wandering tongue.

“First, I can feed you.” He scooped her
into his arms and started out of the gym. “Then I can make you sleep.”

She stiffened. Nothing could give her rest. Blood stained her waiting dreams.

“Relax.” A slow squeeze compressed her
hip, right at the juncture of her thigh. “I can touch you until your limbs go heavy and your eyes drift shut, until
sleep becomes the only option.”

“Do you mean—?”

“Yes.”

Sensuality she hadn’t seen through her
fear fairly oozed out of him. Somehow through the gentleness, his manner
conveyed he’d be happy to eat her alive, possibly in both good ways and bad.

Trevor stopped in the lobby. Without
putting her down, he asked the woman manning the desk to take London’s locker
number and combo and fetch her things. When London insisted she could get her
own purse and towel, he hushed her and gripped tight.

“You’re trembling in my arms. You’ll
fall and smack your head on the dressing room bench.”

Then, without further explanation, he
turned and treated the bristling receptionist to a patient stare that said, “I’m waiting.” The woman resisted for a
heartbeat, then shot both of them a scathing glance before leaving to do
Trevor’s bidding, her tight yoga pants highlighting her perfect—holy mother of perfect—backside as she
sashayed toward the locker room.

That ass was all apples, no applesauce.

Trevor didn’t acknowledge the tension or the view. He stood perfectly still
with London suspended five feet from the floor, pretending the woman’s reaction
had been about gym protocol.

“You two have dated,” London finally
croaked, knowing she shouldn’t care.

Silence stretched as they waited.
“Nope.”

“Friends with benefits, then.”

His head bent to meet hers. “No.”

“Ah,” London said knowingly, “benefits
only.”

He didn’t bother to deny the obvious.
Instead he pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her jaw. “Let’s call it ‘practice
only.’”

“For what?”

He straightened and said two words.

“For
you.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Before becoming a writer, Libby was first a mechanical engineer in the data acquisition industry (voltmeter anyone?). Preferring writing to technical design, Libby headed to law school and eventually practiced patent law for several enterprising years (patent application covering a voltmeter anyone?). Finally realizing that technology just wasn’t her bag, she traded the voltmeters for alpha heroes and the women who love them. Today, Libby writes contemporary romances from the foot of the Rocky Mountains, where she lives with her husband, a bona fide rocket scientist (he stuck with the voltmeters!). When not writing, Libby loves good food, even better wine, and traveling the world in search of the next great story. Libby loves hearing from readers! Join the fun at www.libbyrice.com, where you can sign up for Libby’s new-release e-newsletter, or on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Instagram.

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About Me

I live in beautiful Durban, South Africa. My love for writing started in the 5th grade but I've only now had the time and patience to complete my first novel. I wish to continue for many years, even when I have retired to a tiny lake-side cottage in the mountains somewhere :)